Seducing Charlotte
by SillyGoatGruff
Summary: Sherlock conducts an experiment to see if he can fall in love with the school's tart.
1. Chapter 1

The fifteen year old Sherlock Holmes was the school's heartthrob. How could he not be, with those high cheekbones, those dazzling eyes, that aloof manner? Girls swooned when he looked in their direction, they blushed, and fiddled my hair, and stared at the floor, but he never noticed. He'd never had a girlfriend, or a boyfriend for that matter, though several of the boys were in love with him. '_He thinks he's too good for us_', some speculated. '_I heard he has a girlfriend abroad_!" others gossiped. But the truth was that Sherlock had never even contemplated the possibility of having a relationship with someone- why would he want that? What was the point?

Charlotte Malory had her eye on Sherlock. He was the only boy in the entire school she didn't have wrapped round her little finger. None of her usual techniques had worked: the fluttering of the eyelashes, the suggestive wink, the seductive brush of the hand. Sherlock just returned them all with a vague, bewildered smile, and sometimes not even that if he had something on his mind. He _infuriated_ her.

Mycroft was draped languidly over the living room chair when Sherlock finally arrived home. He was surrounded by homework, but instead of doing it, he chose to peel an apple slowly into his lap. Sherlock dumped his heavy satchel onto the floor, and flung his coat onto a chair.

"Sherlock," said Mycroft, "Why did you take the route through the graveyard?" Sherlock looked down. Of course: a white lily petal on the back of his shoe, and the clayish soil only found around the church.

"Avoiding everyone," he answered, "there were lots of people at the end of the road."

"Waiting for you, no doubt," said Mycroft with just a hint of jealousy.

"Me?" asked Sherlock incredulously, "Why would they wait for me?" Mycroft chuckled softly.  
"Oh," he said, "I thought he knew."

Sherlock sat alone in his poky room, doing his and Mycroft's chemistry homework, even though Mycroft's was three years above what he should have been doing. He filled them both in, alternating between his own and Mycroft's handwriting- it was all simple, really, if he applied himself. He hardly had to think for a minute before he answered A-level chemistry questions. The thing that annoyed him, though, was that Mycroft could have done it in even less time. Mycroft _excelled_ at chemistry, but was always too lazy to do it. Sherlock had to work ridiculously hard at it, and even then wasn't as good as Mycroft.

When the pages were all neatly filled in, Sherlock lay back on his dingy bed and thought. What could Mycroft have meant, 'waiting for him'? Sherlock had no friends. People wouldn't just 'wait for him'. That was what friends did- or at least, Sherlock thought, but he wasn't really sure on the finer points of the concept. People at the end of the road... Well, not people. _Girls_, more specifically. Lots of girls. At the end of the street. Giggling. Sherlock hated it when they giggled- it was as if all of them were in on a huge secret he knew nothing of. He ignored them for the most part. _Girls_.

"Mycroft, why would they have been waiting for me?" asked Sherlock, as they ate their dinner (their mother was out, as she always was). Mycroft chuckled.

"I can only presume they think you're good-looking." he said, "Can't think why. You're ugly as hell." Sherlock ignored this.

"And why would that matter?" Mycroft moved into unknown territory.

"I don't know. I suppose they want to talk to you and _things._"

"Yes, but why?" moaned Sherlock, "I don't talk to them."

"Except to show off with your deductions," muttered Mycroft.

"I do _not_ show off."

"Of course, brother dear." Sherlock scowled and pushed his plate to one side.  
"I'm going to bed."  
"At half five?"  
"Yes."

But Sherlock soon grew bored in the drabness of his bedroom, and returned to talk to his brother, as Mycroft knew he would.

"Had a nice sleep?" Mycroft asked sweetly.

"Naturally."  
"Good, good."  
"Mycroft," said Sherlock hesitantly, "when you say talk to me, do you mean... be my girlfriend?" Sherlock's pale face flushed pink.

"Yes," said Mycroft delicately, "I suppose."  
"I've never understood the concept. It all seems pointless to me, and there are enough people crying over heartbreak to put me off." (Sherlock was a regular watcher of_ Eastenders_).

"Humans do odd things, Sherlock."  
"There must be something in it, though, if everyone does it." said Sherlock slowly.

"Ye-es. I suppose." Sherlock smiled.

"I propose an _experiment_, brother dear."


	2. Chapter 2

Charlotte applied an extra coat of lipgloss before she headed off to school. Her blond hair was curled, her green eyes rimmed with blue. She looked hot and she knew it.

"Don't think I'll bother with school today," Mycroft called from his room, "forge a note for me."

"Fine," muttered Sherlock, rushing through the door.

"Don't forget: it's Charlotte Malory you're going for." Charlotte Malory: the challenge.

Sherlock had never really looked at people before, let alone _girls_, but he noticed them now. Lots stared at him when he walked by. He didn't know what to do- should he stare back, or cast his eyes down as he instinctively wanted to? Remembering Mycroft's advice, he remained aloof, but threw a couple of saucy winks at some of the hotter girls. In fact, he let his gaze fall over every single girl but Charlotte. This bemused her more than angered her- she was clearly the most beautiful girl in the school, but Sherlock hadn't even glanced at her. Sherlock smiled to himself as he caught her reflection in the window.

Sherlock took care to sit at the table next to hers at lunch. He didn't eat the stewed mess before him, but merely toyed with an apple, twisting it round in his long supple fingers. Charlotte couldn't keep her eyes off him, but he never looked in her direction. She let her fingers trail across his shoulder as she passed him. She'd expected some kind of reaction, but there was none. He acted as if nothing had happened.

"How did it go?" asked Mycroft when Sherlock reached home.

"Followed me around like a puppy," replied Sherlock. Mycroft smirked.

"Ha! I told you." Sherlock threw his bags onto the dirty faded carpet.

"I don't _understand_. Why did it work? I hardly did anything _special._" Mycroft chuckled but did not answer. Sherlock made his way to the kitchen, his mind buzzing. He burnt the soup, but didn't care. This experiment was proving to be _interesting_…

Charlotte threw her pillow across the room in outrage. How _dare _he? How _dare _he? How dare he try to flirt with _her_? She flirted with him; that was how it worked. She chose her guy, not the other way round. With any other boy she would have dismissed them instantly, but she couldn't do that with Sherlock. He'd awoken a strange feeling in her- like she'd crawl a mile over broken glass just to hear him whisper her name, like she'd rather die than be without him. He was too perfect, his pale skin, his beautiful features, his sparkling eyes, his muscular arms, his curly black hair… the list was too long. He was too perfect to be true.

Of course, Sherlock had no feelings for Charlotte Malory, but he knew exactly how to make it seem as if he did. He shot her fleeting glances, cheeky winks, short smiles and then ignored her for days, because that drove her crazy, just waiting for him to look at her just once again. There was a reason he'd chosen Charlotte: she was a challenge. Her heart was cold as stone. She too, seduced people without feeling anything for them, because she was… what? Bored? Sherlock didn't know. But she had never loved, and was sure she never would love. Because loving meant exposing vulnerability, and the girl of stone could never do that. If Sherlock could break her, make her love him, make her beg at his feet for his attentions, well… He could do the same for anyone.

"So do you like Sherlock?" asked Olivia, Charlotte's friend, "I saw you looking at him in Physics today." They were painting their toenails, sat on the bed whilst _Dirty Dancing _played in the background. Charlotte's mouth fell open.

"How _dare_ you?" Olivia's eyes widened.

"Sorry! Sorry." Charlotte picked up the brush again.

"Sherlock is pathetic. Why would I like a loser like that? Anyway, you _know_ I don't attach myself to one guy."

"Yeah, I know," said Olivia wistfully, "but you have to admit, he _is _hot." Charlotte laughed.

"Him? Oh my God, he's so ugly. I think he looks like an otter." But Sherlock looked perfect, and Charlotte knew it.

She took out the class photo when Olivia was gone. Sherlock stood in the corner at the back, oddly separate from the rest of the class, his pale skin even whiter against his black uniform. He'd been distracted by something at the last moment, he head was turned, his neck craned and an expression of extreme interest on his face. She looked at his eyes, turned away from the camera, and she wished they'd swivel back to look into hers. She stroked his printed face. Sighed and then turned her attention to the other boys in the photo.

All of them either loved her or had dated her. She tapped her fingers irritably. _Why_ didn't he adore her as everyone else did? The girls wanted to _be _her; the boys wanted to be _on _her. But Sherlock? Nothing. He only cared about his stupid Chemistry.

She put even more care into her appearance the next day. There wasn't a single blemish on her tanned face and she smelled of an intoxicating musk. Her teeth gleamed.

Her friends were waiting for her at the end of the road, and they met her with excited squeals. Charlotte hugged them wearily. She was much more mature and intelligent than them and their petty ways irritated her. She knew Sherlock would be able to hold an intelligent conversation with her, but where would she be without her followers? The five blond heads inspired fear and admiration wherever they went. Charlotte smirked and they made their way to school.


	3. Chapter 3

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Sherlock was already there, trying to explain to an exasperated headmaster why Mycroft had been absent for an entire week.

"He just gets ill a lot."

"Hmmm," said Mr Chumm, "Well you tell your brother he's an excessively bright pupil. If only he'd applyhimself for once, he could really make something of himself. I mean, he could be the Prime Minister of England if he wanted to! But that will never happen if he continues to be as lazy as he is."

"I understand, sir." Said Sherlock politely, because he had just noticed Charlotte through the window.

"Hey," he said casually to her, the wind ruffling his curly black hair. Charlotte turned and was overwhelmed by his beauty. Her knees crumpled, and she would have fallen to the ground had Sherlock not caught her swiftly in his arms.

"Careful," he said smiling, not letting go of her. Charlotte made a strangled sound that could have been laughter. She flushed bright red. What was going on? She hadn't acted like such an idiot since she was _ten_ for God's sake. Where had her flintiness gone? Why was she so innocent and vulnerable around Sherlock?

"Do you want to get a coffee some time?" asked Sherlock. Mycroft had taught him the implications and connotations of this simple question.

"Sure," said Charlotte breathlessly, unable to tear her eyes away from Sherlock's. What? She _never _accepted when a guy asked her out. _She _asked _them_. None would be pretentious enough to ask _her_. None but Sherlock. She could never refuse him, not with those glittering blue green eyes.

Sherlock couldn't concentrate on lessons all day. This was where he started to grow uncomfortable. The only person he was remotely sociable with was Mycroft, and now he was going out with someone? And Charlotte Malory of all people! The school's slut! He put his face in his hands at the thought of even going near her. The girl repelled him; she was cruel to her enemies and even crueller to her friends. All the boys but Sherlock mooned over her. But it _was_ an interesting experiment, and Sherlock could never leave one of _those _alone…

Time seemed to go extraordinarily slowly for Charlotte. She drummed her perfect nails on the desk, she fidgeted with her hitched up skirt and applied coat after coat of lip gloss. Any onlooker would say she was nervous. But she couldn't be- this was Charlotte Malory! An age had passed, but when she looked to the clock, it only said two minutes had.

Eventually though, the time did come, and Charlotte was sitting in the bus-stop outside school, waiting for Sherlock. He was twenty minutes late. Normally, Charlotte would have been the late one and if any other boy had dared be late, she would have left straight away. But this was Sherlock, and she felt like curling up on the floor and crying.

ere...


	4. Chapter 4

She was about to leave in a flood of tears, when there was Sherlock, looking slightly dishevelled and smelling of singed hair. Charlotte had to fight the impulse to throw her arms around him, but resisted.

"Sorry I'm late," gasped Sherlock, "I got caught up in the lab. You know, magnesium really does oxidise when you-" He caught sight of Charlotte's face, "Ah. Not interesting." He laughed, even though he was internally cursing himself. Girls don't like chemistry,

"So um… shall we go?" Charlotte beamed.

The date was a success; Charlotte found herself becoming more and more infatuated with Sherlock, and what was important, felt like the feeling was mutual. Sherlock didn't take his eyes off her even though the sight of her repulsed him. He spoke softly to her and gazed deep into her eyes, letting himself brush her hand every now and then. He performed his part perfectly: his eyes smouldered, his hair flopped and he did the most beautiful crooked grin. Charlotte was falling in love.

"Sounds like she's falling in love," said Mycroft when Sherlock recounted the night's events to him "Serves her right. She's broken many a heart."

"I know."

"Not that there's a chance of that happening to _you_ brother, dear."

"No."

"I sometimes wonder if we _have_ hearts."  
"My heart beats: my blood continues to course through my veins, does it not?"  
"I meant in the _metaphorical_ sense."  
"We do better without them." said Sherlock grimly.

Charlotte had never felt like this before. So… happy and free. Sherlock felt the same way; she was certain of that. He'd been so funny and interesting and intriguing- so unlike any of the other boys at school. He'd kissed her cheek before she'd left, and he'd smelled delicious. She could have gripped onto his pale face right there and then and kissed him full on the lips, he was so beautiful. But she'd had to refrain. She just stood there, dazed and joyful.


End file.
